Agent D39
by Mycapisoff
Summary: Nick Warhurst was an odd man, and not just because he was made up. But the most odd thing about this made up person is that he got straight A*s. And that was not made up. Harry Potter was an even stranger boy. The most odd thing about him? He got straight O's. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1: Spook

Chapter 1: Spook

"Well find him!" yelled Fury, his veins pulsating with anger. There was a reason for this frustration. A few hours back an unknown had been recorded going through Baghdad International. It was late 2003, operation Desert Storm, and coalition troops were pushing through at speed. Both British and Americans, on a scale that hadn't been seen since WW2.

"Sir!"

The yell caught his attention.

"I've found him! Captain Nick Warhurst of 45 Commando RM. Joined out of school, straight A stars with both A-levels and GCSEs. Been in the Marines for… Sir?"

"Yes?"

"He's a spook. Made up."

-§-

Nick Warhurst was an odd man, and not just because he was made up. His parents had been killed in 1981. A terrorist, the authorities called their killer. He had moved to his aunt's and uncle's house, where he lived until he was ten. Then, on one stormy night, in a lighthouse on the Solent, a giant burst in, turned his cousin into a pig, broke his uncle's shotgun, and gave the poor, young scared Nick a squashed cake. But the most odd thing about this made up person is that he got straight A*s. And that was not made up.

Harry Potter was an even stranger boy. When he was eleven, he saved Nick's stone. When he was twelve, he saved a girl from a monster. When he was thirteen, he rescued his godfather. Fourteen? Won a tournament. Year after? Lead a student based section into the almost certain death and didn't lose a single student. Sixteen? Saw his headmaster die. Seventeen? Killed the terrorist who killed his parents. The most odd thing about him? He got straight O's. That wasn't made up either.

-§-

I will let you into a little secret. You may have already guessed the answer. Harry Potter is Nick Warhurst. He took his exams with Hermione Jean Granger when he was in fifth year. He joined Her Majesties Royal Marines 45 Commando as a 2nd Lieutenant and traveled up the ranks until he was a Captain. He joined the SBS.

And why he was a spook? He was at Hogwarts for most of his secondary education. Special training for most of his life, and once the war was over, he wanted more. He wanted to feel alive, the feeling of when you are at being fired at. He wanted the camaraderie of the ranks. And most of all, he wanted to follow in the footsteps of his family: his great grandfather served in the Royal Green Jackets at Waterloo; his grandfather was an officer in both the Great War and the second; in the RFC with a chap named Algernon, and in the RAF with a Flight Sergeant Smyth. His father was the same as Nick, joining the bootnecks. Then he died.

During his Hogwarts years, Harry Potter was trained by a great number of people: Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, his godfather- Sirius Black. However, the lesson he learned the most from, was not from a master of warfare, evading, or camouflage. It was actually time spent with Penny and Nick, going to France, Germany, Russia even, learning languages and accents like they were his own. It was here that they knew him, and him alone. They told him what to do, and he loved them for it. Then they died.

-§-

It was only a matter of time before Nick got noticed. His four man section was often in and out of ops before the enemy realised they had been planned. When questioned, his mates said that "We closed our eyes, and something dropped on us. We went back in time he said. A secret experimental device, used to help secret ops like ours."

He got taken to a house at Tyneham. He got introduced to a man. A man named C. His actual name was Richard Dearlove, head of SIS. He got turned into their man. An assassin. A bodyguard. A spy. D39.

-§-

His job was supposed to be simple. "Set up a network, 39."the head of D had said. "Fun, relaxing, hot weather: what more could you want?"

To be honest he was expecting it, as he pulled his L9A1 Browning 9mm from its holster. It wasn't the first time the Americans had cocked up, and it certainly wasn't the last. A girl: Rosie George was at the centre of it. He was almost certain it wasn't her name, almost as certain that Nick Warhurst wasn't his. They had been tracking him for a while, apparently . Wanting to recruit him for a while, apparently. Well, apparently, an armed Soviet offshoot had wanting to kill him for a while. The Americans didn't know this, apparently. So they 'caught' Nick, and interrogated him. And, apparently, the Americans didn't know how to put up a cordon. So, Nick was under fire, with questions on one side, and bullets on the other.

"To be honest," he muttered to himself, "I'm not sure which I prefer-interrogation from the pretty redhead or the bullets."

"You better not be talking bout me sunshine, or I'll chop off your-"

"Yes Rosie, sorry Rosie, won't do it again Rosie."

"Shut up, bastard."

"Bitch."

"Limey."

"What does that even mean? I mean, I know it's for sailors, Brits especially, but bloody hell why is it bad? I was a Marine, for gods sake, now SBS, and-"

"No you're not. You are a spook aren't you."

"Fucking cunt."

**AN: Hello. As you have probably figured out, this is my first fanfic, and to be absolutely honest, I am shite at English. Please, if you find any mistakes, tell me! Thanks.**

**Capoff**


	2. Chapter 2: Rosie and Nick

"It's an anti-stress tool, so I would like you to give it back. Thank you, you gormless twat. Can I have the gun back as well? No? How about the knives. That would be a great starting point."

Fury sighed. This was going nowhere. The screen went blank. Again, he felt the urge to kick this Barry Trotter in the balls. With the screen working again, he could see Romanova interrogating him. Suddenly, she screamed, turned around, turned back, and slapped the subject. Her hand went straight through him. Suddenly she fell over and the door opened and closed, with a faint shout of "Fuck you Rosie!"

She turned towards the camera swearing. "He pinched my fucking ass!" she screamed. "Pinched it, and fucking ran away with a fucking hologram in his fucking place!"

* * *

He was now a tad scared. Rosie wanted to kill him, the black guy wanted him to be questioned, and D was still waiting for his first report-which would probably never come by the way. So Harry was hiding disillusioned in the safest place he could think of: next to Rosie. Corridor after corridor whizzed by, the furious pace that she was setting starting to falter. She took a sharp right, through a door and then-

"What the fuck are you?"

"Why Rosie, I never knew you were into this stuff!"

A hand was around his throat, knee by his balls, and gun to his head. He dropped the spell.

"I repeat, what the fuck are you? Some kind of- I don't know, a robot? Cyborg? Some sort of nanotechnology to have that good invisibility..." She muttered on and finally reached a conclusion about Tony analysing Nick. She released the hold on his neck, which was a mistake. Harry disapparated out in front of her.

* * *

REME had fucked him over again. There was meant to be a vehicle fixed up for him; but no. Several inventive insults had been spouted about the veracity of their mothers being human; the amount of time that they should be in school for; and the long list of blackmail he had on them.

In the end, he picked it up. It was a Toyota Hilux, riddled with bullet holes and splattered with blood. More insults were muttered, and he slowly signed the form and moved out. He drove slowly towards the base.

Rosie was a problem- a loose cannon; knowing things she shouldn't about BAWlocks.

He clicked a button.

She could be... disposed of, but muggles always had those annoying mechanical IDs. Recording several things, including steps, heart rate and blood pressure, they could even detect someone being cut into. If they were external, it would have been easy. A quick 'accio' and 'diffindo' and all would be dandy.

* * *

Tony stared at the rotating photo. He had met the guy before, at several parties, talking to Pepper; a rich scion to many houses of minor nobility in the UK, buying unreliable shares on the cheap. His shares. Tony's shares. He had tea with the Queen on Thursdays, just after she had seen the prime minister. In his spare time, he was a manufacturer, fabricating 'tools', as he put it, under the banner of 'Marauder'.


End file.
